


Awkward Doesn't Cut It

by gyromitra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, How do I English?, M/M, Mostly Complete, Role Reversal (slight), Superhero Prompts Fun, let me have my fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: A prompt story about the notorious villain Strike Commander and THE vigilante Reaper.





	1. The Hospital

Jack, professional alias Strike Commander, woke up slowly and groggily, which was the first sign something was very not as it should be. The second clue was the steady electric hum of the machinery and the beep of a heart monitor. What had he been doing earlier…? Oh, right. Surprisingly, getting totally wrecked, which he had not expected. He made a mental note to hunt down fucking backstabbing Widowmaker and make her very, very sorry after he busts out of whatever hole they’re going to throw him in. Sombra probably was already on her way out of the country, clever girl she was.

The third interesting thing he slowly became aware of was the fact that it didn’t really feel like he had been restrained…

“I know you’re awake.”

Jack opened his left eye and glanced to the side. It appeared he had been placed in what looked like a standard hospital room, and in the chair was sitting one person he had not expected – Reaper. THE vigilante.

He giggled. The stuff they had given him must have been real good. In Reaper’s lap, there was a bouquet of flowers that looked like gathered from some random lawn and a stuffed brown plush horse with a ‘Get well soon’ card tied to its neck with a blue ribbon.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I just can’t believe this shit, I’ve spent literal years, and I mean years, trying to flush you fucking out,” Reaper started in his gravely ‘oh so gritty vigilante’ voice, “and you are a fucking teacher!?”

“I even pay taxes,” Jack mumbled, his tongue feeling like cotton in his mouth. “Don’t fuck with the taxman.”

Reaper groaned, putting his face in his hands. Or, rather, his mask.

“Fuck my life.”

“…that for me?” It was certainly interesting that with his senses as dulled as they were now, Jack had been able to feel the almost literal wave of awkwardness now filling up the room.

“They… they’re from my kid,” Reaper swallowed audibly. “They lo… like your lessons.”

“…any chocolates there?”

“Seriously? Fucking seriously?”

“So, chocolates?” Yep, Jack decided, he really could go for some chocolates right about now.

“For fuck’s sake, no, there are no chocolates,” Reaper growled.

“So, if you’re not placing me under citizen’s arrest,” Jack slurred, “then leave those on the table and kindly fuck off to let me ride that sweet high out…”

And just like that, he was out in la-la land.


	2. The Rumor

When Jack woke up again, he was parched, in considerable discomfort, and to his left in the chair was sitting the best – and the worst – of his life, the fruit of one-time adrenaline-fueled fling that left him year later with a three-month-old because its mother was working on her degree and had neither time nor will to raise a kid between that and feats of villainy.

Sombra discovered his ‘not very secret’ identity when she was seven. When he found her holding his mask he had readied himself for a lot of screams and etcetera. Well, there was screaming, just not the kind he had expected. Usually, one would assume that a child her age would show preference towards heroes, not exclaim: ‘that is so cool, my dad’s the best villain!’. He still had not found out which of his associates taught her lock-picking, but he vowed revenge regardless.

“Welcome to the land of the living, daddy dearest.”

“…what are you still doing here?”

Sombra clicked her tongue.

“I was watching the news, there were no reports of any arrest, nor fatality, and then I got a call from the hospital my poor dad’s in ICU.” And she was eating his chocolates. “Imagine that, such a high profile story, one of the civilian victims of a showdown between Strike Commander and Widowmaker, and the Ziegler Foundation flew in even doctor Ziegler herself.”

Oh. He was… fucked, to put it lightly. Sombra tsked and fished out the horse plushie from between the plethora of different get well gifts that apparently made an appearance while he had been out. The situation was even worse. That part of his cotton-rimmed memories was no hallucination.

“Bet you fifty it’s from Jesse.”

“I’ll take you up on it. Is there any water around?”

Sombra nodded mournfully and handed him a cup.

“Besides, now it is apparent that I simply cannot let you out of my sight because you’re going to get yourself killed, dad. Satya called – my suit is ready.”

“Sombra…” She just raised one eyebrow. The argument was lost even before it had been made.

“This will make you feel better.” Sombra scooped closer, showing him her tablet. “Imagine, there’s also another high-profile story making rounds in the rumor circuit.”

Oh.

OH.

He was so going to use this to his advantage. Of course, under the provision that he would survive the oncoming lecture from Angela.

*

Hana ‘D.Va’ Song, the face of MEKA Corporation and licensed corporate vigilante, smiled wide. That never bode well. She smiled not unlike a predator that just caught the scent of its prey.

“So how long has been this sordid affair between the two of you going on?”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel turned towards her, eyeing her with distrust.

“How long are you fucking Strike Commander now?”

“…I think I heard you wrong the first time, could you repeat that?”

“What I meant, you were squabbling like an old married couple, as usual, then Spider Queen puts the bullet through him, and then rather than end it, you carry him away in your arms like your own princess.” To elaborate her point she displayed a still hologram of Reaper doing just that.

“I, what, when? How?”

“There’s a sizeable betting pool.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Gabriel took a long, deep breath. “What are they betting on?”

“Oh, the usual, how long until his dick corrupts you, how long until your dick turns him to the good side, how long until you break up and who will die then, and who will be the one to propose.”

“There’s… there’s no affair, and nothing’s going on, and this whole thing is preposterous, and why the fuck is half of this thing about some magic dicks?”

“I’m betting a nice sum you’ll pop the question.”

“I… you people,” Gabriel surrendered.

*

Thanks to the terrifying doctor Ziegler, Jack was up and running just a week after the Widowmaker incident. Which, of course, led to…

“Goddammit, don’t fucking goad them,” Reaper hissed. “Almost everyone thinks we are having some sort of illicit love affair.”

Jack chuckled behind his mask.

“I certainly do not intend to goad them. I want to give them the proof.” Jack dared to do what no one alive dared before him. He slapped Reapers ass. Hard.

The beautiful high definition pictures Sombra took were one hundred percent worth the resulting concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point I realized that all my happy!AU incarnations of Jack are aresholes and Gabriel >just-suffers-through-it-all<, one way or another. Waifu-person said: you mean that's not canon?
> 
> Chapter 2 prompt courtesy of downwithwritersblock.tumblr.com:  
> 3\. Some journalist got a photograph of me saving your life instead of trying to kill you for once, and now half the city thinks we are secretly dating and I don’t know what to do.


	3. The Ploy or The Kids Are at It Again

The pictures were still worth it even when Angela gave him another concussion after healing the first one. And then healed him again. Whoever granted her medical license was a natural born sadist and hated all living things in the world with an inconceivable amount of passion.

The plush horse sat on his desk in a place of honor, just by the purple porcelain cat figurine Sombra gave him once when she had forgotten herself, as a random gift. He still suspected it was more of a joke.

“As a side note,” Jack addressed the class, “Schrödinger's cat thought experiment was created as a way to highlight the inherent absurdity of applying the laws of quantum physics to objects existing in the range of macro world physics. It also pointed out the need for an undisclosed something, or someone, to be the observer that collapses our poor cat into being very alive, or very dead, among other things, but that deals more with the history of quantum physics and different interpretations of quantum effects we will actually save for the next lesson. Myself, I like to think, it also highlights the fact that we, as humans, still have a considerable objection to treating time as just another dimension, like, for example, length, if all we experience is its linear progression. So, the electron might be once observed as a particle, another time as a wave, and why exactly is it? For the next week, try to think about one such unruly particle that not only exists in spatial coordinates, it also exists spread over some amount of time, miniscule as it is. Class dismissed.”

Students started to leave among comments like ‘mind blown’ and ‘hey, wanna get high behind the gym before art?’. All except one. Jesse slowly approached the desk and then put a small cowboy hat on the horse plushie.

“I, uh, I’m glad that you like it. So I made the hat for it. So it looks… classy?” Jack almost dropped his papers. And smiled.

“It is an especially fine equine specimen, Jesse.”

“I reckon it is, Mister Morrison,” Jesse tipped his own hat while grinning goofily. “See you next week.”

“Yes, Jesse, next week,” Jack waved him away and then slumped in his chair, trying to set fire to the plushie with his stare because that absolutely made no sense. After some time spent thoughtfully putting together all the little clues in the right context, it actually made frighteningly too much sense.

Honestly, who else if not Gabriel fucking Reyes, strangely buff and a bit reclusive costume and set designer for several avenues in the city? And it made him feel itty-bitty bad about that one time he punched Reaper out when the opera house came under the attack during the premiere. He really thought the whole project was exquisite and had been a tad frustrated his night out got interrupted.

“Ey, old man, quit stalling, you’re getting laid tonight after all,” Sombra clicked her tongue and then sat down on the desk. Jack sighed, caught the purple cat figurine before it hit the ground then set it outside of his daughter’s range. Then he reached for his wallet and gave her fifty credits. “You know I only bet you because he asked me if you liked that atrocity?”

“I’ve guessed as much.”

*

In his life, Gabriel tried Tinder. He also tried Grindr. He tried We Both Like Pineapple on Pizza. He even stooped as low as creating an account on OkCupid. It just didn’t work out. The furthest he got was three dates in – and then any and all interest he might have felt just fizzled out when faced with the banality of the everyday life.

Which left him with this, getting set up on a blind date by his own son, and worse, getting fashion advice from the very same son that took to dressing up cowboy style when he was five and never looked back, because: ‘nah, too dramatic, try this, he’s real classy, you dun wanna make him run when he sets eyes on ya, do you?’.

Gabriel started to pick at the hem of his shirt and glanced around exactly at the same moment goddamned Jack Morrison had stepped inside. This had to be someone’s idea of a fucking joke. Gabriel discreetly angled a bit to the side and tried to hide his face behind his palm. For a second, it seemed like it had worked.

“I believe, Mister Reyes, you’re waiting for me?” Bastard. Gabriel caught the subtle drop after the first syllable of his last name and glared righteously at the man setting himself down in front of him. Yeah, him and his big mouth, he should have left while the blonde was still unconscious. He just figured the whole hospital conversation would be long forgotten seeing as the guy had been high as a kite, and then some.

“Is this some kind of ploy?” He hissed.

“Certainly. But I suppose the only ones plotting were our progeny, and towards sending us off to have a nice cozy romantic evening,” Jack smiled picking up the menu.

“We can go both on our separate ways then because this is not going to work out at all.”

“I came here for free food, mostly. I think I’ll have the duck with truffles.” Gabriel stared at him.

“Free food? Last month you held up the federal bank and absconded with twenty-five million credits!”

“Details,” the bastard scoffed. “Besides, you will have to drive me home, my daughter seems very committed to the idea of getting me laid, she took the car back with her.”

“You can take the cab.”

“Now, that wouldn’t be very romantic, would it?”

“There’s nothing romantic about…” Gabriel pursed his lips when the waiter came over. The fucker made his order. “To think I let you daughter sleep over at my place all those years.”

“Your concern for Sombra’s chastity is truly touching, but it has never been threatened, believe me. Your son’s as gay as they come. No-one puts that much dedication into dressing like a cowboy otherwise, unless in the professional capacity.”

“Says the man who so very often wears that one blue travesty against any sort of fashion sense.”

“Says the man who routinely goes out in one quite kinky black leather number.”

“…Touché.”

Jack raised the wine glass in a toast.

“Now, Gabe, can I call you Gabe?”

“Most certainly not,” Gabriel glared at his ‘house special’ which turned out to be some pity amount of fish with fancy garnish.

“So, Gabe, let us put down some ground rules first. I believe we should keep our private lives off limits, and I mean, completely out of any mention or action. I do imagine, you have many more enemies than I do, and their involvement, dare I say, is much more personal?”

“Are you… Really, you have the audacity to threaten me?”

“I’d never,” Jack laughed, apparently the bastard was having entirely too much fun. “I’m merely noting that the destruction is mutually assured in our peculiar case.”

“Duly noted,” Gabriel shook his head. “I should’ve let you there to bleed out.”

“But you didn’t.”

From that point on the discussion turned to quippy banter reminiscent of their usual clashes and then somehow to Jesse’s academic results and goddamn Morrison even suggesting some additional classes he could attend and what schools would be good to apply to with his grades and aptitudes.

So, when Gabriel stopped in the driveway and the blonde unclasped his seatbelt, the night was already full of things he had not expected, and driving his nemesis home was certainly on that list. Jack shrugged and leaned to the side…

Oh.

OH.

Getting head in the driveway from the said nemesis everyone already thought he was involved with for who knows how long would never even make it to the ‘unexpected things’ list. It was straight out of the ‘those things have no right to exist’ list. But then, it had been pretty long since… Gabriel decided to go with the flow.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack wiped his lips. “I want to say I’m genuinely sorry about that one incident at the opera, I was actually looking forward to seeing the whole show. Drive safe.”

That… smug… bastard.

*

“You’re home early,” Sombra didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “That bad?”

“It was a disaster.” Jack sat down on the couch and started flipping through channels.

“Too dramatic?”

“Worse.”

“Too academic?”

“He used ‘abscond’ in a sentence. But worse still.”

“Oh, the horror, what could be worse?” She plopped down sideways in his lap.

“Honeybuns, you set me up with Reaper.”

“This makes scary amount of sense,” Sombra agreed slowly, looking up at him. “But you still blew him in the driveway.”

“This is all part of a long term strategic planning.”

His daughter raised her eyebrows.

“Well, okay, he picked up the tab and then drove me home. I figured he deserved to get something out of that,” Jack admitted with some delay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jesse and Sombra are tight.
> 
> Prompt used, again downwithwritersblock.tumblr.com :  
> 4\. Who would have thought I’d be set up on a blind date with my biggest enemy.


	4. The Intermission

*

It had never been that Gabriel wasn’t interested or involved in Jesse’s life – there were just some aspects of it he left alone because he knew he could trust his son. Now, he couldn’t trust his son’s friends, or at least that one particular friend.

After some deliberation, he pushed open the door to Jesse’s room and came face to face with the bizarre reality of what was actually taking place inside.

Jesse and Sombra were both on the bed – that could be seen as arguably bad, yet…

Sombra was reading out loud horoscopes from some teen rag magazine, her other hand thrust forward, and Jesse was in the act of painting her nails with purple polish. Snack wrappers were thrown everywhere around. My Little Pony was playing on the screen in the background.

“Oh, morning, Mister Reyes,” Sombra smiled cheerfully. Jesse added something from himself, what exactly, Gabriel couldn’t be sure because the boy had his mouth full of marshmallows. Literally. “Is something wrong?” Sombra added after he failed to produce any sound for several seconds in a row.

“…no. Just wanted to ask if you both want something.”

“A beer would be nice?”

“You are both underage.” Jesse protested, again, intelligibly.

“Dad would let me have a beer,” Sombra pouted, shrugging, which made Jesse pull at her wrist to keep it steady in position.

“I bet he would. Root beer?”

“Only if it’s cold, right Jesse?” His son nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Gabriel slowly closed the door and made his way downstairs. Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number he never imagined he would call again.

“Hello, Gabe,” goddamn Morrison sounded like his usual chippy teacher self on the other side of the line. “Is this something important?”

“Do you let your daughter drink alcohol?”

“At her age? Of course I do. If she wants to drink I could hardly stop her, this way she drinks what’s safe and in a safe environment.”

That sounded awfully sensible, Gabriel had to admit. Even if the fact the advice came from fucking Strike Commander made him cringe internally.

“Good. Does it always look like that?”

“What looks like what?”

“They are painting nails, reading some teenager trash papers, and watching My Little Pony. All simultaneously.”

“This is strange. They usually watch some romantic westerns, like this… Little House on the Prairie thing?” Something very audibly exploded in the background. “Oh, fuck.”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Right. Now?” Gabriel ground out.

“I’m having a little shoot-out with Vishkar security downtown. Really, nothing much, a favor for a friend. Reaper wants to join in on the fun?” Morrison’s voice really should not sound that teasing, and he really should, maybe, gear up and go stop whatever harebrained scheme the man was now realizing.

But the events of previous night started to play in the back of his mind on repeat and Gabriel put down the phone. A little too forcibly, probably, considering that little black plastic chip that almost hit him in the eye.

Several minutes later he handed two glasses to Jesse and Sombra.

“Whoa, this is real beer! You called my dad,” Sombra looked up at him after sipping the cold beverage. “So the date wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Jesse was giving him puppy eyes.

“Let’s not talk about it.”

*

“This was a peculiar conversation,” Satya murmured on the line.

“Sombra’s sleeping over at Reaper’s today,” Jack clicked his tongue shooting another Vishkar private mercenary, then dashed forward to the code lock.

“The rumors are true.”

“Oh, no, they are completely false, so far. But I won’t deny there is some attraction.” With few keystrokes, the repository opened.

“You are a baffling man. Use the first drive. The second one will mask the first hack and deposit the funds to the programmed account. The third one is the burn-out.”

“Oh, fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt, just *cough* storybuilding. Kind of. I'm half-basing Symmetra on my friend, half on the protagonist of 'Bron Broen'.


	5. The Cooperation

After the fourth exploit of the same kind, Gabriel decided it was high time to track down Jack fucking Morrison, catch him red-handed, and beat the truth out of him. So when he grabbed that ridiculous blue coat of his in his fists and shook hard, he had not expected that particular outcome – but, really, knowing the man he shouldn’t be that surprised.

“What the fuck are you planning to do?”

“Oh, hi, not that I mind some rough play, but I do think that for only one date we are moving a bit fast here,” Morrison chuckled sweetly.

After a few seconds, when the gears of his mind finally ground out the translation for the bizarre sentence, Gabriel let go of him like he were a lava-hot potato.

“For fuck’s sake! Can’t you just give this thing a rest?” Gabriel hissed.

“What? No second date?”

“You’ve hit four Vishkar offices in two weeks,” Gabriel decided, steeling himself, to ignore the completely not subtle subtext. “For money. You never do that, you alternate your targets. That’s partly why you’re that hard to pin down.”

“Are you, perchance, thinking about pinning me down, Reaper?”

Ignoring the subtext was becoming increasingly hard – mhm, bad train of thought. Gabriel briefly prayed for strength so he wouldn’t throttle the bastard on the spot, and be happily done with it all.

“Vishkar sponsors Doomfist through some of their subsidiaries, and Widowmaker’s allied with him now, under his protection.”

Morrison, tapping fingers on his mask, sat down on the bench.

“Wow, sometimes I forget that intelligence is such a turn on for me. Really. You’re the only person that has noticed the theme so far.” Gabriel couldn’t decide if that was supposed to be an underhanded compliment, or another jab at the rumors Morrison himself had helped to fuel. Even if nothing happened, yes, that was the version he was going to stick to only if to avoid further embarrassment. “So, is Reaper going to heroically stop me?”

“What I’m proposing,” it almost hurt to put it out there in words, “is a temporary alliance to bring her to justice.”

“…and by justice you mean?”

“Getting her out, dumping her in the deepest hole we find, and throwing away the key.”

“I don’t know if I can personally get behind letting that backstabbing traitorous arachnophile bitch breathe. She did, after all,” Jack wondered aloud, “shoot me in the back. Quite lethally, I dare say so, and if not for my knight in shining kinky black leather number, I’d be quite dead.”

“Said the walking fashion disaster. It’s a onetime offer.”

“That’s my professional brand, mind you,” Morrison again tapped on his mask. “Did you get all of that?”

“What are you babbling a…?” Gabriel started when a soft voice interrupted him.

“Yes. We could use a distraction.” The air shimmered with dancing sparks of light and the Architect, the person you wanted to contact if you required non-standard tech, stepped out of the portal – almost giving him a literal heart attack. “This would help us get to Sanjay.”

“A favor for a friend,” Gabriel groaned, feeling the definite migraine looming on the horizon. ”And you want to rescue that Sanjay person from Doomfist’s compound.”

“There he goes again, being intelligent. How am I supposed to work like this? I feel personally attacked,” Morrison had the audacity to sound positively scandalized. Affronted even. The migraine was currently trying to sneak in through the proverbial backdoor like a teenager trying to slip back home unnoticed past his curfew – Gabriel had some experience with that.

“Thank you for taking care of Sombra,” the Architect added, her tone unchanged. “I like her.”

What the fuck did he just agree to?

*

Two days later, Morrison dumped very unconscious and suspiciously very short haired Widowmaker on the ground. Gabriel just stared.

“What…?”

“If you are accusing me of being such a petty person to do this out of pure spite, then yes, you are truly and absolutely right,” the blonde gleefully divulged. “I’m just the right amount of petty to do exactly this.”

Right, moving along. Gabriel decided he really didn’t want to deal with this.

“And that Sanjay person?”

“There has been a very unfortunate serial turret malfunction,” the blonde shrugged. “Boy Scout’s honor.”

“Yes,” the Architect had agreed after a few seconds too long for comfort.

“Real shame, we’re all devastated the rescue didn’t go as planned.” If Morrison thought he was fooling anyone, Gabriel certainly had some news for him.

“Yes,” the Architect confirmed with another awkward delay.

“Okay,” Gabriel sighed, leaning down. “I’m taking her into custody.”

“The marketing came up with new designs, Jack.”The Architect moved her fingers over her gauntlet.

“Oh, you know I don’t care about that, if they think it is a good idea, put it on the sale,” Morrison waved his hand dismissively.

“It involves Reaper. They want a green light from him or his marketing to avoid litigation.” She swiped and the hardlight projection opened with several pictures. Of which the most prominent was the one with ‘cute’ Reaper and Strike Commander holding hands. With a big heart in the background. And flowers around it.

“What the fuck is this!?”

“Merchandising. Every self-res… You don’t have your merchandising line?” Goddamn Morrison sounded incredulous, and then, satisfied. “Honey, I want everything, and promote the shit out of it.”

Gabriel never had before felt a greater urge to smash Morrison’s face in. Repeatedly. With claws on.

*

Five days down the line, Gabriel was one hundred percent sure he got duped into orchestrating corporate overthrow. After the story about the murder of Sanjay Korpal – at Doomfist’s hands, no less – broke out, Vishkar announced their new chairman: Satya Vaswani.

A week later, Vishkar had cut all the funding funneled to Doomfist, even going so far as to liquidating several of their subsidiaries involved in the case. That… wasn’t so bad, after all. And the convoluted merchandising scheme, with some serious digging involved, had turned out to donate most of the profits to the Ziegler Foundation. At least in the case of Strike Commander.

After a month, Gabriel called the number the Architect gave him.

“Oh, Miss Vaswani told us to expect a call from you, Mister Reaper. Let me tell you, we are all positively thrilled we will be working with you!”

It was Vishkar Marketing.

Although, that hadn’t stopped him from lunging at the goddamn Morrison and trying to beat the everliving shit out of him during the parent-teacher conference when he found out Jack’s desk got decorated with several new trinkets, including the offending print with heart, flowers, and hand-holding.

It turned disturbingly awkward when Sombra somehow appeared almost out of thin air and took the pictures on her phone – then shouted several words of pretty explicit encouragement to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt this time is:  
> 5\. I dont like this person, you don’t like this person. I know were like, sworn enemies, but what would you think about teaming up just to take them out?


	6. The Fake Date Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus the headcanon Jesse's a culinary blogger continues.

Awkward didn’t even cover it. If anything, the awkwardness became curiously morbid, when goddamn Morrison stood, leaning on the doorframe, in a blue bathrobe, and stifled a yawn with his palm.

“Gabe, it’s eight in the morning. On Sunday. Even the brats are still asleep. Although, after that amount of sugar I’d wager it’s a diabetic coma…”

Yeah. Awkward didn’t cut it. Gabriel, with considerable difficulty, reined in the instinct to just run.

“Listen. Shut up. I need your help.”

“That’s a funny way of asking for assistance,” Morrison raised his eyebrows, and then moved to the side, extending an unspoken invitation. Nope.

“I need… I mean,” Gabriel grit his teeth and decided to go wild with it. “I need you to pretend to be my… boyfriend, today.”

“Why?” The blonde shook his head, blinking.

“Everybody thinks that we,” Gabriel gestured between them both, “so… I might have told them I have somebody, and…”

“And my humble self apparently is the only person you can ask to lend a helping hand, or two?”

“No, you’re the only person I know, Morrison, that’s duplicitous enough to pull it off.”

“Let me get this right, Gabe,” Morrison smirked and Gabriel almost growled at him, “you are inviting me to a gathering of your ‘friends’ as your ‘boyfriend’, me, a local sweetheart teacher, because you had lied your ass off to said ‘friends’ Reaper can’t be bumping uglies with Strike Commander because Gabriel Reyes is bumping uglies with Jack Morrison?”

“…yes,” Gabriel admitted. It hurt.

“Oh, okay then. When are you picking me up?”

“You… you just agreed?”

“Sure.” Morrison shrugged. “It’s just that it is… really pathetic, and I’m sympathizing. Truly.”

Gabriel stared considering it simply might be better to just admit he was lying to everybody. About that elusive boyfriend.

“I’ll come by at one…”

“Good. Now please excuse me, I have a date I need to get ready for.”

Motherfucker slammed the door in his face.

*

At quarter to one Jesse and Sombra had managed to find their way downstairs – and if anything were to be said about their appearance it would exclude being presentable. Jack piled the pancakes on the platter.

“Okay, brats, breakfast. The cream is in the fridge, fruits too.”

“Why are you all dressed up?” Sombra sat at the table and glared at him suspiciously. “It’s not like you have any plans today?”

“I have a date, honeybuns, and I don’t know when I’m going to be back, so you can order some takeout.” Sombra automatically presented her hand and made the money gesture. “You can spend what you took out of my wallet on Friday evening.”

“Can we get Korean this time?” Jesse mumbled while in the process of precariously balancing three pancakes simultaneously on his fork.

“You always want Korean.”

“Because we never order it.”

“We had Korean last week.”

“There’s maybe this new place with Burmese…”

“If it’s as bad as that Mongolian place you found last time you’re on diet for next month and I’m not talking to you anymore, like ever.”

“Behave, now, don’t burn the house down, kids. My date’s here,” Jack smiled. As soon as the door closed behind him, any pretense of sluggishness left both teenagers.

“Isn’t that Gabe’s car?” Sombra asked, cautiously peering over the windowsill.

“Yeah, that’s dad’s,” Jesse gasped.

“Fist bump?”

“Fist bump.”

*

“What is this, Morrison?” Gabriel glared at the box Jack held in his lap. Luckily, the light changed, and again he had to pay attention to the road.

“What does it look like? Wine, of course. A tad trite, I know, but you didn’t leave me much time to prepare.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it good manners to bring a gift for the host if you’re invited to a dinner? Besides, you didn’t say where we are going exactly.”

“Friend’s place, so just… behave, Morrison. Please.”

“First, you ask me to assist you because I’m apparently skilled enough in deceit to pretend to be a boyfriend able to endure your intensively charming personality, Gabe, and now you expect me to behave? Who do you take me for?”

“What…” Gabriel glanced to the side. “What was that sentence even supposed to mean?”

“I think I might have lost my point somewhere along the line,” Jack admitted, sighing. “But it’s not like you are actually helping the situation here, let’s be honest.” The blonde lazily stared through the window to the side – and then sat up straighter. “Are we, perchance, visiting Amari household?”

Gabriel slammed the brakes out of pure surprise. Really, no-one could have blamed him for it. It wasn’t his fault the airbags proved to be a wee bit overzealous.

“You know, you could’ve told me you’re going to try and kill me again, I’d dress for the occasion,” Morrison mumbled after he somehow managed to pop the offending white nylon balloon. Gabriel decided to embrace the impending disaster and just leaned into the airbag. It was soft and comforting now. Mistakes were made. He should’ve had come clean about that boyfriend situation. Then, he heard a telltale farting sound.

“How did you…?”

“I taught Fareeha,” Morrison, with a bit of white talc in his hair and obviously offended, glared at him

“No. The knife, where were you hiding it?”

“Oh,” the blonde considered the sleek blade. “Trade secret,” he offered with a cheerful, yet still a bit dazed, smile.

*

Ana Amari leaned on the balustrade of the balcony – observing with a certain interest the car that just parked in the driveway. When she saw the passenger door open and the tousled blond mop of hair, she calmly took out one cigarillo from the case and lit it up. The quick inspection clearly connected the aforementioned car to the ominous tire screech from several minutes before.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered, looking up to the sky. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Oh, yes, and this is somehow my fault now, Gabe?” Jack leaned on the side of the car. “You should have those checked, you know? I shudder to imagine what would happen if Jesse were in the car with you, or, god forbid, Sombra.”

“For fuck’s… They worked!”

“Yeah, but they shouldn’t, that’s the point, you didn’t hit anything, so something went wrong! Those things are dangerous!”

“Morrison, now’s not the…”

Ana cleared her throat loudly.

“I trust no-one died this time?” She saw that flicker of fear, but credit was due, Jack regained his composure fast and tried to tame his hair.

“No, no, unless I have a concussion everything’s all right, the dog lived.”

“The dog,” Gabriel added, looking to the blonde.

“Yeah, it ran just in front of the car, and the softie here almost killed us both with the airbags,” the glare the blonde directed at Gabriel was of the epic proportions, “that shouldn’t deploy.”

“Yes, the dog.” Gabriel handed a box to Jack.

“And you are looking even more charming than usual, my dear Ana,” the blonde smiled.

“And I guess you are that elusive boyfriend of his? I must say, this is unexpected but feasible. Yes, feasible.”

“I…” Jack faltered for a second, obviously looking for help from Gabriel, and receiving none. “I guess?”

“Mhm,” Ana nodded. “Come inside, I’ll be down in a second.”

Gabriel only took a deep breath trying to stave off the growing sense of justified dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Promt:  
> I know this is kind of weird considering, you know, we hate each-other but could you pretend to date me for a night? You’re the only person I know that my friends won’t recognize and I don’t want them to figure out that I lied.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 prompts courtesy of downwithwritersblock.tumblr.com:  
> 1\. I have been trying to find your civilian identity for years and it turns out you work at my kids school. How is the biggest villain in this city a school teacher??  
> 2\. I thought the Hero was supposed to leave the villain to die, but here we are, you awkwardly sitting beside me in the hospital with a bouquet of flowers and a ‘get well soon’ teddy bear


End file.
